Gunslot Christmas Poem
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the sight,
Not a member was logged on, no even zx12mike.
The ammo cans were sitting, by the safe with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas would soon leave ammo there.
The members were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of naked girls holding AR’s danced in their heads.
And runaway in her kevlar, and ivantank in his tactical vest,
Had just shut down their browsers for a much needed rest.
When out on the range there arose such a clatter,
Schuyler sprang from his cot to realize it was machine gun chatter.
Away to the safe Raffy flew like a flash,
Brought out his Glock and found his ammo stash.
The.45’s were loaded in the mags with care,
And the steel on the 1911, gave off a sexy soft glare.
But what to Greg Az’s keen eyes should appear,
But a man in an sleigh and Ebear molesting eight tinny reindeer.
With a very old driver, Ecaman thought it was LLE,
But realized in a moment, that it must be Sam D!
More rapid than a minigun his orders they came,
As he cussed, and drunkenly shouted, and called them by name!
"Now Lucky! now, Toosk, now,Catfish and Snake!
You may post what you want, as long as it’s in good taste!
No pubes, no reposts, no vaginal lips!
If the pics of a girl, she must have a gun on her hips!"
I watched as Sam posted and posted some more,
He found pictures and videos and earned points galore!
He tore into liberals and communists and such,
And soon we realized he didn’t like Obama very much.
He rose through the ranks, and President he became,
And we all knew, without Sam, gunslot wouldn’t be the same.
Surely a gentleman, but sometimes a surly old cuss,
He tried to make peace when some made a fuss.
He was dressed all in cammo, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with gunpowder and soot.
A dufflebag of Guns he had flung on his back,
And he looked like ebear and his fellow wetbacks.
His eyes were glassy, most likely from the martini,
He carried a picture of Dollpartz in a bikini!
His droll little mouth looked wrinkled and old,
And the beard of his goatee was as white as the snow.
The outline of a G19 you could see on his hip,
As he stumbled and fumbled and tried not to trip.
He had a small Berretta he kept in the pocket in front,
Just in case he saw bearmeat, that worthless left wing cunt!
He carried a Camp 9, fixed up by his friend Greasy,
And had added an optic with laser, to make shooting easy.
The rifle had slash marks on the side of the stock,
To commemorate each illegal alien, he had dropped like a rock.
He typed and he posted until his fingers were sore,
And filled forums with pictures of guns and political lore.
The girls in the pictures were tasteful, yet scantily clad,
And some had big boobs, which made Vic quite glad.
He sprang to his sleigh and yelled out to Reaper,
“Sigs suck ass, but a Glock is a keeper!”
But I saw his last post, before he logged off the site,
"I hope you all get new guns on this Christmas Eve night!"
Merry Christmas guys!...Brad.